Plato: the Simile of the Cave

Plato: The Simile of the Cave

Imagine an underground chamber like a cave, where there are men who have been prisoners since they were children, their legs and necks being so fastened that they can only look straight ahead of them and cannot turn their heads. Behind them is a fire, in front of which march figures of animals and men made of wood, so that their shadows are cast on the wall in front of the prisoners. If I knew what television was, that is what I would bedescribing.

And so in every way they would believe that the shadows of the objects we mentioned were the real things, the whole truth, yes?

Then think what would happen if they were released from their bonds and cured of their delusions. Suppose one of them were let loose, and suddenly compelled to stand up and turn his head and walk towards the fire: all these actions would be painful and he would be too dazzled to see properly the objects of which he used to see the shadows. And if he were made to look directly at the light of the fire, it would hurt his eyes and he would turn back to the shadows which he could see properly, right?

And if he were forcibly dragged up the steep and rugged ascent and into the sunlight, wouldn’t his eyes be so dazzled that he couldn’t see any of the objects he was now told were real?

He would have to grow accustomed to the light outside the cave. First he could look only at shadows, then at reflections of objects and men in water, later at objects themselves. After that he could observe the heavenly bodies and the sky itself at night, and look at the light of the moon and stars rather than the sun and its light by day. Follow me so far?

Last he could look directly at the sun itself, and come to conclusions about its role in the seasons and the years. And when he thought of his fellow prisoners, wouldn’t he feel sorry for them?

But if he were taken back to the cave, wouldn’t his eyes be blinded by the darkness?

And he would look like a fool, and if anyone tried to release the fellow prisoners and lead them from the cave, they would kill him if they could lay hands on him.

Now, the realm of sight is compared to reason, and the sun is ultimate truth, the form of the good. Those who have made the journey there appear dangerous or foolish to those who remain behind, who therefore prefer to remain blind and ignorant.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not….That was the ture Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not. He came unto his own, and his own received him not…

And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, and we beheld his glory, and the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.

(John 1:1-14)

But in the end, there will be a new heaven and a new earth, and a holy city, a new Jerusalem.

In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bear twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. And there shall be no more curse: but the throne of God and the Lamb shall be in it; and his servants shall serve him: and they shall see his face; and his name shall be in their foreheads. And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither the light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light: and they shall reign for ever and ever.

Bible; New Testament.

(Revelation 22:2-7)

All that glisters is not gold;

Often have you heard that told.

Many a man his life hath sold

But my outside to behold.

Gilded tombs do worms infold.

Had you been as wise as bold,

Young in limbs, in judgment old,

Your answer had not been inscroll’d.

Fare you well, your suit is cold.

The quality of mercy is not strain’d.

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

‘Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes

The throned monarch better than his crown.

His scepter shows the force of temporal power,

The attribute to awe and majesty,

Wherein doth sitthe dread and fear of kings.

But mercy is above this sceptred sway;

It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;

It is an attribute of God himself

Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice

(II.vii.65-73); (IV.i.182-193)

I have lived some thirty years on this planet, and I have yet to hear the first syllable of valuable or even earnest advice from my seniors…The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation…A stereotyped despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind…

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartanlike as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.

Henry David Thoreau, Walden

William Blake, “The Tiger”

Tiger Tiger burning bright,

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye,

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? What dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,

And water’d heaven with their tears,

Did He smile His work to see?

Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

This is a story about the beginning, from Jewish legend, from the very beginning of history, the beginnings of the written word.

Vesta, the Roman goddess of the hearth, and Hestia, the Olympian goddess.

Penates, the private household gods of each hearth

We all know how the world came about, when God said, “Let there be light!” and there was light, and God saw the light, that it was good. When He was about to create the world by His word the 22 letters of the alphabet descended from the terrible and august crown of God whereon they were engraved with a pen of flaming fire. Then they begged God to create the world through them.

We know about the skies and seas, the fish and birds and beasts created. On the sixth day God created the beasts of the air and land.

The salamander originates from the fire of myrtle wood which has been kept burning for 7 years steadily by means of magic arts. One who smears himself with its blood is invulnerable, and a web woven by it is a talisman against fire. King Hezekiah owes his life to the salamander. His wicked father, King Ahaz, had delivered him to the fires of Moloch, and he would have been burnt, had his mother not painted him with the blood of the salamander, so that the fire could do him no harm.

Among the birds the phoenix was the most wonderful. When Eve gave all the animals some of the fruit of the tree of knowledge, the phoenix was the only bird that refused to eat thereof, and he was rewarded with eternal life. When he has lived a thousand years, his body shrinks, and the feathers drop from it, until he is as small as an egg.

He runs with the sun on his circuit, and he spreads out his wings and catches up the fiery rays of the sun. If he were not there to intercept them, nothing would keep alive. His food consists of the manna of heaven and the dew of earth. His excrement is a worm, whose excrement in turn is the cinnamon used by kings and princes. In the morning when the sun starts on his daily course, the phoenixes sing, and every bird flaps its wings, rejoicing the Giver of light, and they sing a song at the command of the Lord.

The ancient Greeks know of this fiery course also: this is where Icarus met his doom. To escape from prison, a high tower, his father fashioned wings of wax and feathers for himself and his son, warning Icarus only to fly to safety, not to venture too near the sun. But who can resist the joy of flight? Icarus flew high, and the sun melted his wax wings, and Icarus plunged into the sea and drowned.

But the Greeks knew more of the underworld, the realm of the dead. At the gate to the underworld is Cerberus, the dog, with many heads, and a mouth dripping with black venom. He appears friendly when you enter the underworld, but he would never let you leave.

Once, Orpheus charmed him with his music in order to escape, but not before entering Tartarus, the place of punishment, to retrieve his lover. There dwell those who have offended the gods, such as Tantalus, who hungers and thirsts while standing in a pool surrounded by grapes that always elude him. Such as Sisyphus, who must constantly roll a boulder to the top of a hill, only to watch it roll down again. Such as the Danaids, fifty sisters who killed their to-be grooms at the order of their father. They were condemned to fill a sieve with water for all eternity.

Orpheus was only slightly less clever than Daedelus, who we know could be tracked by his cleverness. When King Minos searched for him, he gave all kings a spiral seashell, asking them to thread it. When he found the one king who could, by tying a thread to an ant which crawled through the shell, he knew the kingdom where Daedelus was hiding.

Plato

Vesta, Roman

Hesta, Olympian

Penates, household

Beginning: world; history; written word

Let there be light

22 letters of the alphabet, God’s crown; engraved with a flaming pen of fire

birds and fish and beasts

salamander: myrtle wood burning 7 years

--smears himself with blood

--Hezekiah, evil father King Ahaz

phoenix: Eve, fruit = immortality

--1000 years, size of egg

--sun’s circuit, protects earth from rays

--excrement worm; excrement cinnamon

Greek Mythology: circuit: Icarus

Underworld: Cerberus (black-venomed mouth, many heads)

Tantalus, Sisyphus, Dainads (sieve)

Deadalus; seashell King Minos (clever)

Plato ANSWER

After Christ; New Testament; Middle Ages and beyond. Priests preserve literacy.

Words reveal mysteries.

John, Revelations

Literature: Shakespeare

Nineteenth century, era of Transcendentalists.

American New Englanders, most can read. Gods are still embedded in literature: Transcendentalists claim that God is manifested in nature, in the solitary cabin in the woods.

Thoreau

Blake

Twentieth century

Jerry.

Soap Opera Digest: “VCR Alert: Your guide to must-see episodes”

Let us go the, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question…

Oh, do not ask, ‘What is it?’

Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle upon the window-panes,

Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,

Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,

Let fall from its back the soot that falls from chimneys,

Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,

And seeing that it was a soft October night,

Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time

For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,

Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.